After Eternity
by AlterationLover
Summary: Frank is bullied for being an 'emo'. Gerard was always known as the 'vampire'. When these boys meet, they devise a plan for revenge. Unfortunately, this plan means something a little bit different for Frank. FRERARD.
1. All The Dirty Looks

**Disclaimer : I do not own MCR or any of the members of MCR. These characters are completely fictional and are not based on real people. I only own the OC's and the plot.**

**Frank's P.O.V**

"Fuck off, emo," I shuddered at the words even though I'd heard them a thousand times before. I hung my head even more forward, so that my dark brown, shoulder length hair hung over my face, obscuring me from view.

I adjusted my backpack which was slung over my shoulder so that the strap sat more comfortably against my shoulder blade.

"No one wants you here, fag!" some blonde yelled, and I could see her sneering face from behind my hair. I quickly reached into my pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills that never left my side. I downed two quickly, but not quick enough.

"You taking your happy pills, emo?" the jock's remark gains him a few laughs from his retard friends who have probably never even opened a book. I had time to put the bottle of anti-depressants back in my pocket before I reached my locker.

Shakily, I entered the combination and swung the metal door open. I deposited my books quickly, not wanting to dawdle in the hallway any longer than I had to. It just wasn't safe for someone like _me _to do that.

Unfortunately, for the second time that day, I was not quick enough. There was a loud bang as someone's body connected with the metal of the locker beside mine.

"Hey, emo," came a voice close to my ear, and I shuddered. I could smell alcohol in his breath. Did he really have enough nerve to be drunk _during_ school?

"Fuck off, Chris," I said pathetically, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Apparently Chris didn't take to kindly to that. One second I was standing in front of my locker, and the next my back was being slammed into a locker, whipping my head back and flipping the hair out of my face. Chris's face was centimeters from mine, and I could almost _taste_ the liquor. I wanted to gag, but I was too fucking scared, and I knew that acting cocky was not the best way to please a drunken quarterback.

"What'd you say to me, fag?" Chris's words were slurred, and I could tell that he was totally wasted. But that didn't diminish his strength. His grip was tight on my shoulder, and I could feel his fingernails digging into my skin. I tried not to grimace.

"N-nothing," I breathed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," I said more confidently this time. Chris pushed me back, and my head connected with the metal of the blue locker. I saw stars.

"That's right," he smirked, and walked away with the other members of the football team, laughing and taunting.

Shaking my head, I turned back to my locker, which remained open. I picked up my fallen backpack and swung it over my shoulder again. I swung the door shut, and it closed with a smack.

I rubbed the back of my head where I could feel the bruise beginning to form. Dammit, just another bruise to add to my collection.

Which reminds me. I should probably introduce myself. My name's Frank. Frank Iero. I'm sixteen, and I go to Bellville High in Bellville, New Jersey. I'm most commonly known as 'emo' or 'fag'. I play guitar, not that anyone cares. In fact, no one cares about _anything_ I do. But then again, maybe it's best that way.


	2. Another Day Inside This Place

**Frank P.O.V**

The bell rang, a shrill ringing reverberating against the stone walls of the hallway. I sighed. Class was probably the only place I was safe from getting yelled at or being shoved into a locker. Of course, the sneers and dirty looks didn't stop, but I could live with that.

Just as I was walking into my math classroom, someone stuck out their leg, and I fell face-first onto the carpet of the classroom. The whole class erupted into jeering laughter as I picked myself up. The teacher stared accusingly at me, as though it was _my _fault I had fallen over. That was another thing. All the teachers saw what everyone was doing to me, but of course they didn't help. They didn't give a fuck about me. To them, I was just another student, just another reject that would never make it in life.

I quickly walked over to my desk, sitting down promptly. I let my hair fall over my face, hiding me, like the leaves of a weeping willow. I pulled out a pen and a piece of paper and waited.

It seemed like hours later before the late bell rang and the class commenced. Math was one of my least favorite subjects. Besides the fact that my math teacher hated me, I just didn't understand the concept of _any_ of the shit they were trying to teach me.

So, I placed my head down on the cool wood of the desk, closed my eyes, and dozed off, letting the faint sunlight warm my back.

* * *

**Gerard's P.O.V**

The school doors stood before me, dark and plain. I guessed they were supposed to look inviting, but all the graffiti and shit made them look ominous. Not that I was afraid of this school. Hell no. I'd been to _much_ worse. This was just the tip of the iceberg.

My name's Gerard Way. I'm sixteen, and I don't give a shit. I love art, and I've been to six schools in the past four years. My parents move about a lot. I don't really care, but I can tell that my fourteen year old brother Mikey does.

I could tell he was anxious now because he kept sliding his glasses back up his nose. He always does that when he's nervous. I looked over at him. He was tall for his age, almost taller than me, but he would always be my little brother. On his back, along with a school bag, was a sleek black bass guitar. Mikey was _exceptional_ for the amount of time he'd been playing.

This was Mikey's first high school, and I could tell he was nervous as fuck. His hands were shaking ever so slightly, so I reached my hand over, patting him on the back.

"It's gunna be okay, Mikes," I assured him. He looked over at me, and nodded jerkily, but I could still see the faint look of fear in his eyes.

Slowly but surely, we made our way closer to the building. Its gray stucco walls blended in with the depressingly bleak New Jersey sky. Only a faint ray of sunlight had made its way through the blanket of clouds, and I could barely see it because the four story building in front of me was blocking my view. I could just see the faint tinge of gold, but no actual sun.

Finally, we reached the building and stepped inside the doors into a small lobby. Well, I guess you couldn't really call it a lobby. All there was was a small window that led into the office, two straight backed wooden chairs and a fake potted plant that was so dusty the green plastic leaves had turned grey, just like the sky.

Mikey and I walked over to the small window. A few dead flies sat on the wood of the window sill. Mikey looked down at the deceased insects in disgust and then back up at me. I shrugged. This wasn't the worst school I'd been to, but it was not even close to being the best. Mikey quickly pulled up his sleeve over his hand and gingerly brushed away the dead bugs onto the floor.

Finally a middle aged woman with dyed blonde hair walked over and opened the window from the other side.

"Can I help you?" her voice was nasally and extremely annoying. She didn't look at us while she spoke; instead she focused on her false nails, examining every corner as though they were the most important thing in the world.

"Uhm, we're new," I said hesitantly, "Gerard and Mikey Way?"

At long last, the woman looked up at us. Her eyes told me she was totally bored. As she chewed loudly on her gum, I couldn't help but think of a bleach blonde, makeup wearing cow.

"Oh yeah," she sighed and walked away. Mikey looked over at me, but I held up a hand signaling for him to wait. Still, he peered nervously over the window sill into the office.

Mikey's anxiety was short lived. The woman returned a moment later with two slips of yellowing paper.

"Here are your time tables," she sighed, still chewing on her gum. She handed Mikey a sheet of paper, and then me. Once she'd given us the papers, the secretary brought back her hand and abruptly closed the window and walked away.

I glanced down at the ink table on the paper. Apparently my first class was math.

Mikey looked at me, a small grin beginning to form on his face. I snuck a look at his first class. Music. Well, at least _he _was happy.

I gave my brother one last fleeting look before we parted ways, him walking down the music hallway, and me towards the math corridor.

The hallways were completely empty. I was twenty or so minutes late because of all hustle and bustle this morning, finding school bags, papers, that sort of shit.

I found my math classroom pretty quick. Room 83. I took a deep breath before clasping the door handle in my right palm and twisting it, swinging the door open.


	3. Take My Fucking Hand

**Frank's P.O.V**

My eyes snapped open as the door creaked on its hinges. A figure was walking through the doorway, but I couldn't see any figures due to my sleep-fogged eyes.

Rubbing my eyelids, the world began to swim into focus. I could now see that the figure was male, with shoulder length raven black hair. He had his back to me, facing the reacher, so I couldn't see his face.

The teacher nodded curtly to whatever it was the boy had just said. My sense of hearing was still somewhere in Dreamland, so I hadn't understood.

The boy looked to be about my age, so he must've been a student, but I'd never seen him around before. Was he new? Probably not... Why would someone want to transfer to this shit-heap of a school?

My thoughts were interrupted as the teacher exhaled loudly.

"Alright, everyone," he sighed, as though he'd rather be anywhere than here with us retards, "This is our new student, Gerard Way,"

The boy finally turned around to face the class so I could see his face. He was pale, but not extremely so, with a nose that upturned ever so slightly at the tip and a mouth that was pulled up in a half smrk, half grimace, as though he hated the fact he was being introduced to everyone.

But it was his eyes that caught me off guard. Sharp, black liner rimmed hazel portals that seemed to be scanning the entire class, almost like they were looking for a weakness, a kink in the armour that kept everything standing.

And then his eyes stopped at me. I looked away quickly, turning my eyes to the floor. I don't know why i didn't want to look him in the eye...

But I didn't feel his gaze leave me. I could almost feel his eyes boring holes into my skin, but, for the first time in my life, it wasn't because he was disgusted by me. No, it was more intrigued, and although I searched, I could not find any aspect of me that was intriguing.

The class went back to work, and I kept my head low so that my hair hung over my face. But then a shadow fell over my paper that was not my own. Cautiously, I turned my head upwards, until I could see who was standing above me. It was Gerard. I still refused to look in his eyes, instead settling for his mouth. His lips were slightly chapped, tiny flakes of skin beginning to peel.

_Everything's going to be alright_, I reminded myself. _He's just going to move on_.

But he didn't move on. Instead he turned on his heels and sat in the desk on the other side of the narrow isle.

"Oh, no," I whispered under my breath.

Gerard turned his head to look at me.

"What?" he asked, and I realized that he only spoke out of one corner of his mouth.

"Listen," I whispered softly, "Two things are happening right now that'll probably get you murdered. One, you decided to sit next to _me_. BIG mistake. And second, you're talking to me. If you want to keep any social brownie points you already have, I'd stand up, walk away, and never talk to me again, unless it's to call me 'emo' or 'fag' like everyone else in this motherfucking school,"

I turned back around to my paper and waited for the tell-tale shadow that would mean that Gerard had followed my advice, but it never came. I turned around once more.

"Dude!" I whispered loudly, "I'm serious! By talking to me you're kicking yourself right into social hell!"

Gerard looked at me for a moment, then snorted, his eyes scrunching up from the peels of contained laughter.

"What?" I asked accusingly, and after a few moments, Gerard relaxed, the laughter dying away.

"You!" he said, and small bursts of laughter escaped him once more, "You're talking to me like I actually give a fuck about all this social shit!"

I just stared at him as he exploded into silent laughter once more.

"Why do you think I came to sit next to you?" Gerard asked, and I shrugged, "Because you're the only interesting looking person here!"

I looked at the new boy curiously for a moment. Me, interesting? I couldn't see it. All I could see was a little _emo_.

Then a minute later, Gerard smacked his palm onto his forehead, producing a loud slapping noise. Luckily, it was masked by chalk hitting the blackboard, so no one noticed.

"Where are my manners?" Gerard said, a small smirk forming on his chapped lips, "I don't even know your name!"

"F-Frank," I muttered, "Frank Iero,"

Gerard smiled like I'd told him the secret of my life instead of just my name. Then he extended his hand out to me. Cautiously, I reached forward and clasped his hand firmly in mine, and shook it slightly.

I found myself grinning, and realized how long it had been since I'd smiled. It was kind of alien, but good. I could get used to this.


	4. This Is The Best Day Ever

**Gerard's P.O.V**

Frank seemed like a pretty cool guy, even if he was a bit secluded. He seemed to hide behind his hair way to much. We'd have to change that.

We ended up talking all through math class. I didn't really give a fuck about algebra. Why would you bring letters into math? Numbers are hard enough, for fuck's sake!

Lunch time came nice and quick, which I was happy about. Class was the same everywhere: boring and useless.

As we walked through the hallway, Frank continued to hide under his hair, and I heard for the first time the things they shouted to him. Thoughts like 'Go cut yourself, emo!" and "Got a new boyfriend, faggot?" escaped people's lips into the air. My brow furrowed in slight anger. No one should have to deal with any of that.

When we reached the lunch room, Frank led me over to 'his' table. He actually meant it in a literal sense. No one else was sat at the large, round plastic table.

"Hey," I said to Frank as we sat down, "Do you mind if my brother comes to sit with us? This is his first day at school, and well, he's not had too much luck in the other schools we've been to,"

Frank shrugged and went back to poking at his food with a plastic spork. Apparently this school was too cheap for separate utensils, not that I was complaining. At least they _had_ utensils.

After a few minutes, I spotted my little brother coming out of the bathroom, his hair dripping. I sighed, standing up and motioning him over.

"What happened?" I asked as he sat down next to me, shivering.

"H-head," Mikey's voice quivered slightly, "Plus toilet, e-equals not g-good,"

I grimaced, uncertain of what to do. I just settled with giving him a hoody from inside my backpack. He pulled it over his sopping head before removing his glasses and wiping the lenses on the black material of the sweater.

"Was it Chris?" Frank said suddenly, looking at Mikey. My brother looked at Frank curiously. I waved him off.

"That's Frank," I said, "Frank, Mikey. Mikey, Frank. Now answer his question. Was it Chris?"

Mikey just shrugged.

"Big beefy guy? Probably piss drunk? Face of an angel, but smells like a petting zoo?"

Mikey laughed, then nodded solemnly.

"Asshole," Frank muttered angrily, "You better watch out for him. He's the one that's been giving me shit for years. Captain of the football team, with chicks chasing after him like moths to a fucking flame, he's a big dickhead with nothing better to do with his time besides making guys like us live in hell,"

"Yeah, they have motherfuckers like him everywhere," Mikey said sadly, "Now lets get some food, I'm fucking starving!"

"Would that have anything to do with the hunger strike you went on to get us not to move?" I asked him, one eyebrow raised. Mikey rolled his eyes.

"Technicalities," Frank laughed at that, a high pitched squeal. Mikey and I both burst into fits of giggles.

"What?" Frank asked, his eyes growing angry.

"You're laugh!" Mikey snorted, "It's … It's so cute!"

Frank's eyes narrowed.

"Don't you be making fun of my laugh, _Michael_," Frank grinned a sly grin.

"Shut the fuck up, _shorty_," Mikey smiled snidely.

"Ooooooh," I was taunting them now.

"Don't bring my height into this, four-eyes," Frank couldn't even keep a straight face when he said that. Even Mikey, who was the expert at the poker-face, couldn't help but burst out into laughter.

We must've looked like absolute retards, trying to come up with new, inventive and preferably disgusting ways to insult each other while laughing our asses off. Altogether, that was probably the best first day of school ever.


	5. Mama

**Frank's P.O.V**

School was over WAY to quickly. School was a hell hole, but home was worse.

I said goodbye to Gerard and Mikey and began the long walk home. My house was forty minute's away from the school, and I was always walking.

The streets near my house get pretty dangerous after the sun sets. A lot of druggies come out and there's a murder ay least once a year. There's probably more, but usually they're homeless drunks that no one gives a fuck about, dead _or_ alive.

As I got into the back streets, I pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit up. I inhaled deeply, allowing the tar to flow through my lungs and the nicotine to subside my craving. Smoking was the only way that really got me calm, none of these anti-depressants really worked. But my doctor makes me keep taking them 'cause of my … cutting. It's true. I do it. I cut whenever it's just too hard to take. But don't get me wrong. Cutting isn't like how they say it is. It's not beautiful, and it doesn't feel good. It's not beautiful, it's horrifying. It hurts like a bitch too. But sometimes it hurts more than the pain inside, and it gets my mind off that for a while.

I swore to my doctor that I would never cut again three weeks ago. I broke that promise within two days. Chris beat me up real fucking bad, threatening me. It was just one cut, above my ankle so the doc wouldn't see, but it reminded me that things hurt more than what they can do to me. It's right after I cut that I feel strongest, as odd as it sounds.

But that confidence soon goes away. It goes away, and then I get beat up, or called an emo fag, and then I cut again. It's an endless cycle. Get pushed down, cut, have an emotional high, get pushed down again etc. It never ever ends.

Finally my house was in sight, but it brought me no relief. The faded red bricks didn't make me feel anymore safe, and it almost looked like the curtained windows were glaring at me. But it wasn't the house that brought fear to me. No, it was the demon that lived inside those brick walls that made me afraid.

Maybe she wasn't home… no, wait, she was _always _home. And she was always drunk too. Awesome.

I turned the handle that was clasped inside my sweaty hand. The faded grey door opened silently, and I sighed in relief. As long as she doesn't know I'm here, she can't do anything.

I tip-toed through the kitchen. I could hear her heavy breathing coming from the living room, and I tread lightly on the floorboards, so as not to make a sound.

Unfortunately for me, God was not on my side. I stood on the bottom step of the stairs, and a loud creak reverberated through the whole house. I grimaced as I heard her shift in the other room, and then came the sound of the springs on the couch being relieved of the weight that she'd put on them.

My shoulders slumped. So much for going unnoticed. I turned around to see her standing in the doorway wearing her washed out blue night gown, with a lit cigarette in one hand, and a half empty beer bottle in the other.

"Where the hell d'you think you're going," she slurred. God, she was drunk, as per usual.

"Hi, mom," I muttered softly, and I could hear my voice quivering slightly, "Uhm, I was just going to do-"

She interrupted me with a wave of her thin, boney hands.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" she said, her eyes thinning, as though this was the first time she'd ever seen me. I swallowed, licking my lips nervously.

"Why'd your old man have to get me knocked up?" she said the same thing every day, but that didn't weaken the pain, "And every day that you were growing inside me, I hated you, you little fuck. You, the _shit_ that held me down. I coulda had it all, every-fucking-thing. But no. I had to take care of you, feed you, clean up your shit. You're _pathetic_,"

I closed my eyes tightly at the last word. I knew she was right to. I was fucking pathetic; the little emo kid with no friends, the one that always got beat up, at home and at school.

My mom's face contorted in disgust.

"Get outta my sight, _shit-heap _," I didn't question her. Turning on my heels, I bolted up the stairs, across the hallway, and into my room, closing the door tightly behind me, breathing heavily.

I had gotten off lucky. Usually my mom would slap me, or hit me. But today it was just verbal abuse.

My room, with its posters from my favorite bands, and its shitty cheap curtains, was the only place in the world that I felt safe. No one could hurt me here. No one_ would_ hurt me here.

I walked over to the small table that sat beside my bed and pushed a button on the stereo system that sat there. Instantly my room was filled with The Misfits.

"_With just a touch of my burning hand,_

"_Send my astro zombies to rape the land,_

"_Prime directive, exterminate,_

"_The whole human race!"_

I picked up my backpack which I had dropped to the floor once I'd gotten into my room, and began to search through it, looking for my math homework. I found it after a few minutes of sifting through random pieces of paper, and sitting down on my bed, I began to work on the equations.

My time spent doing homework was short though. Within five minutes of trying to figure out a particularly hard question, I was up and head-banging along with the music. I was never very good at focusing.

My homework forgotten, I danced around the room, not caring how much noise I was making. My mom didn't care enough to come up and tell me to turn it down.

Finally, I fell back onto my springy bed, breathing heavily. Things hadn't been that bad today. Only my head hurt slightly from that bash Chris had given me, plus, there was finally someone in that school that actually wanted to _talk_ to me. Things could have been a hell of a lot worse.

* * *

**Gerard's P.O.V**

"So," I said as Mikey and I walked home, "What'd you think of your first day?"

Mikey just shrugged, showing that ever-present poker-face of his. I rolled my eyes slightly. That boy … him and his straight faces.

"Okay, how about this," I said, taking a different approach, "How was your first day _besides_ getting your head shoved into a toilet?"

The corners of my little brother's mouth twitched ever so slightly, and I though for sure that he was going to actually _smile_. But no such luck. The poker-face remained plastered on.

I sighed deeply. Fine, let _me _do all the talking.

"Frank seems like a pretty cool guy," I said, and Mikey nodded nonchalantly.

"'Seems like the kinda guy you would hang out with," Mikey surprised me by saying,

"He speaks!" I yelled jokingly, getting me a shove from my brother.

"But I agree with you," I continued, "He doesn't deserve all the shit he gets,"

Mikey shook his head, agreeing with me.

"He really doesn't. I just wish there was something we could do for him, you know, to get them to stop all that,"

And that's when it came to me. A way for Frank to be someone that stood out of the crowd, for him to be different. I smiled a sly grin, and Mikey looked at me oddly. I just raised my eyebrows, the genius plan harvesting in my brain. This was going to be perfect.


	6. Words I Thought I'd Never Speak

**Frank's P.O.V**

A week had passed since I'd met Gerard. We'd gotten pretty close, but it was still feeling kind of alien to me, having someone to talk to. I was so used to being by myself, having no one who actually cared about what I did.

"Okay," Gerard said one afternoon. We were sitting outside the school against the wall, "What do you do in your spare time?"

I thought about it for a second. What _did _I do?

"Uhm," I replied kind of nervously, "I like to read, and listen to music?"

"Sick!" Gerard smiled, and I could see that he was genuinely interested, "What kind of music do you like?"

"Uhm," I said again. I had the tendency to mumble when I was anxious, "Black Flag, Misfits, stuff like that,"

"Holy shit, no way!" I jumped a little at Gerard's yell. I looked around, making sure no one was staring at us, but the school yard was empty.

"I LOVE the Misfits!" I smiled when I heard that. How could this guy be so much like _me_? And what was the possibility of him actually _meeting _me? It almost seemed too good to be true.

"Mikey has an unhealthy obsession with The Smashing Pumpkins," Gerard mused, and I chuckled.

"The Smashing Pumpkins are cool," I replied, "I listen to them a lot, actually!"

"Wow, Mikey's gunna love you when he finds out," we both laughed.

The sun was still straining to get through the heavy cloud cover. Gerard and I were silent for a few moments as we both watched as the rays of light tried and tried to fight to get through the grey, but never quite made it. It was like that all the time here. You get used to it after a while, and before long, you don't even notice it anymore.

Suddenly, I felt a small fleck of wetness fall on my forehead. Looking up, I noticed that it had started raining, small water droplets falling from the grey heavens.

"It's raining," Gerard said obviously as a raindrop fell onto the corner of his mouth. It sat there, glistening for a moment before plummeting down his ivory face onto the stone blocks below.

"No shit, Sherlock," I said wryly, and he gave me a friendly shove, laughing.

The rain continued to fall, but neither of us made any motion to move. It was kind of calming, the water hitting your face.

"It's like an ocean spray," Gerard said after a minute of silence. I looked at him questioningly.

"A few years back, my family and I lived in California, and sometimes I would go to the ocean on a particularly windy day, and just sit there, letting the mist cool my face. It was nice.

"But were only in California for two months," Gerard continued, "We move about a lot, way too much. It's 'cause of my dad. He has to keep moving around for his job. I know it's not his fault, but sometimes I just wish he would quit, so we could actually just _stay_ somewhere. It's been hard on all of us, but especially Mikey. He's kind of quiet, as you've probably noticed, so he really doesn't make friends. People take one look at him, see the glasses and the hair and think "Yeah, he's just a nerd,", but they're wrong. You haven't heard him play bass. He's amazing, and I have no idea how he does it. He just blows my mind,"

I had no idea why Gerard was suddenly telling me all this, but I thought it was nice that he was actually confiding in me. He trusted me enough to tell me all this, something that no one had ever done before.

"Gerard," I said, once he'd finished talking, and had went back to staring up at the sky, which was still raining down water droplets. He turned to face me at the sound of my voice.

"Thanks," I smiled, and his lips, in turn, curled up, before he nodded once.

His eyes suddenly drifted upwards to my hair which was hanging in my face.

"You need a haircut," he said plainly, and I stuck my tongue out at him.

"You can talk!" I flipped my fingers at the shoulder length pitch black hair that sat on his head. He smirked.

"And besides," I continued, "It's easier to hide behind,"

Gerard's smirk quickly turned to a frown. He lifted his hand up and brushed the hair away from my face. My breath caught at his touch, but it was nothing more than a friendly gesture.

"Don't hide behind a curtain," he said, "Show yourself. Be _different_,"

I sighed. I _did_ want to be different. I _did _want to show myself. I wanted to be known, not as the _emo_, but as something different, something someone would remember in the years to come. But it was kind of hard to achieve that when all you really were was an emo.

"Like I could ever be different," I said maliciously, picking up small pebbles from the ground and throwing them across the yard, "I'm just a fucking _emo_,"

Suddenly Gerard grabbed my shoulders with such force I almost fell over. He spun me around so that I was facing him. His eyes were serious, and his mouth was set in a fine line.

"You can be whoever you want to be, Frank," Gerard said sternly, "Anything, you fucking hear me?"

I nodded, and he released his grip on my shoulders, which quickly sank.

"I just wish I knew _how_," I sighed. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I spotted the edges of Gerard's mouth curve up into a slight smile, but the second I looked over, his mouth was back to the straight line it was before.


	7. Don't Like What You See

**Gerard's P.O.V**

It was time. I knew it. Frank was sitting beside me against the wall, telling me about how he wished he stood out, and I knew it was time to act, time to put my plan into fruition.

We parted ways a couple of minutes later, him heading towards his house, and me to mine. I walked through the streets, the rain still drumming down, so that by the time my house had come into view, my hair was plastered to my face, and I was shivering ever so slightly.

The red door loomed in front of me, and I had to stop for a moment to remember exactly what the interior of my house looked like. We moved around so much, sometimes I would think I was going into the previous house we'd lived in, and then have a little heart attack when I realized it wasn't, thinking I'd gone into someone else's house by mistake. Yeah, I know I'm pretty stupid, but I was always self conscious about that.

Once I was certain I knew what my house looked like, I grasped the knob in my hand and turned it, entering through the doorway into the hall. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that this was indeed my house.

Flicking on the light-switch, I hung my soaking black trench coat up on one of the hooks that stood waiting by the front door. I stopped for a moment, listening. I could hear the steady ticking of the analogue clock in the kitchen, and then faint 'drrnt''s coming from upstairs, but nothing else. My parents were out, I decided, and Mikey was upstairs playing the bass, hence the 'drrnt'sing.

Kicking off my shoes, I thumped up the stairs. The beat coming from Mikey's room stopped, and then the door opened, and Mikey's face popped out from the crack. He took one look at me and grinned.

"Nice hair," I flipped him the finger before retreating to the bathroom. I turned on knob, and the shower sprung to life, hot water cascading from the shower head. I stripped down before stepping under the hot downpour.

As I shampooed my already soaking black hair, I thought about the plan. If all went according to plan, Frank and I would see Chris tomorrow. For some reason, I wanted to make sure he saw. Maybe it had something to do with him being Frank's biggest problem, or maybe it was just revenge for him shoving my little brothers head down the toilet (I hadn't forgotten about that, and I was still pretty pissed). Either way, I wanted him to see it.

I had talked to Frank about California earlier. I don't know why I told him all of that, and about Mikey, and I had a feeling he didn't either, but it felt good to get it off my chest, you know? And I was certain I could trust Frank.

There was something that that boy was hiding from me though. I mean, I'd seen his cuts. It was during math class, and he was leaning on his elbow, when the sleeve of his hoodie fell down. I saw the thin, white scars that were carved into his arm. I'd pretended I hadn't seen to save him from the embarrassment, as he quickly slipped the sleeve back up, covering his wrist. But there was no way those cuts were just from Chris and everyone else that picked on him. There had to be something else, something else that made him hurt himself. And I wanted to find out.

I turned off the water of the shower, and stepped out onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Grabbing a towel, I wrapped it around my waist. Walking over to the mirror that was mounted on the wall, I cleared off the condensation that had developed there with my hand, revealing my face in the slightly water tinted glass. I grimaced at my reflection. I was never one for looks, with my long black hair, and smudged makeup. My face just didn't seem to work with anything.

I quickly turned away from the mirror, not really wanting to see myself any longer than I had to. Have you ever noticed that some things in the world are backwards? Frank was actually a pretty good looking guy, from a straight guy's eyes, and yet he was bullied every day of his life, and then there's me, and well, I've not exactly got the best face on me, but I was never bullied like he was. Maybe it was because people were scared of me.

I was always the 'vampire', the pale kid who everyone did their best to stay away from. Not that I really minded. I was never really one for socializing, but with Frank, it was different. I felt like I could talk to him about anything, and he wouldn't think I was a freak, or just brush me off like a dead fly on a counter-top. I felt like he would actually listen, and _care_. Maybe that was why I liked him so much.

I hobbled out into the hallway, my bare feet sticking to the wooden floors slightly as I did. Closing my bedroom door behind me, I stared around. The walls were empty, and unopened boxes littered the floor. The only things that were unpacked were my clothes, which were hung in my closet. Walking over, I picked out a plain black t-shirt and a pair of jeans and put them on.

Once I was fully dressed, I walked over to a box that sat beside my unmade bed labeled, 'COMICS'. I ripped it open, breathing in that familiar smell that I loved so much. Gingerly, I reached in and picked out the first edition I could get my hands on. It was Watchmen, one of my absolute favorites. I settled down on my bed and flipped through the comic.

Suddenly there was a knock on my door, and then it parted from the doorframe, revealing Mikey.

"Hey, Mikes, what's up?" I asked, putting the Watchmen comic back down on the box where it had come from.

"Nothing, I, uhm, just wanted to ask you a question?" he said, walking into my room.

"Sure, Mikey, shoot,"

"Are you glad we moved here?"

I thought about it for a moment before smiling.

"Yeah," I said, looking up at him, "Yeah, I really am. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno… I just think that I could get to like it here. We never really fit in anywhere else, did we?"

I laughed.

"No, no we did not," Mikey cracked one of his rare smiles.

"Oh, and Gerard?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could come listen to me play bass?" I laughed before nodding. I stood up and walked after my brother, not being able to wait for the amazing music he was sure to produce.


	8. The Collision Of Your Kiss

***A/N : Sorry that it's taken so long to update, schools been crazy, and I dunno, the words just didn't wanna _flow_. But I got there in the end :P So, here's part eight :)***

**Frank's P.O.V**

I entered school with a black eye the next day. When Gerard asked, I just told him some guys I didn't even know had ganged up on me, but it was a lie. Mom had been pretty wasted last night.

The first half of the morning had been pretty uneventful. Of course there were the sniggers, the taunting, the shouts, and I could feel my depression rising, but not enough for me to take a pill. I would be alright, for now at least.

But it was after lunch when things kind of went. Gerard and I were walking towards English, the only class I actually enjoyed. I just loved to read, and _write_. Maybe that was why they called me an emo, for all the writing. But anyway. Gerard and I were walking side by side through the hallway headed for our English classroom, when suddenly there was a shout.

"Oh, look everyone! The emo's got a boyfriend!"

I grimaced.

"Fuck, Chris," I mumbled. He'd thrown me over the edge of Mount Depression, and the only way to arrive at the bottom safely was to take yet another Parachute Pill.

My hand went to my pocket, but just as my fingers scraped the plastic bottle, Gerard's hand clamped itself onto my wrist.

I looked up at the boy standing beside me. He wasn't looking at me, but instead at the crowd of people that had accumulated in front of us. They were all silent, waiting for something to happen. Then Gerard spoke, and I knew that I would never forget his words.

"Actually, Chris, you're right,"

I opened my mouth to ask what exactly Chris was right about, but I was interrupted. In a flash of light, Gerard leaned down, placing his lips firmly on mine.

My eyes widened in shock as he kissed me, and I could see everyone around us jaws drop.

After a moment, Gerard released his lips from mine, instead bringing them to the side of my face. I could hear his breathing in my ear, and I tried not to shiver.

"I'll explain everything," he whispered quickly, only loud enough so I could hear, "And fucking smile, would you?"

Gerard pulled away, and for the first time, I could see the people around us. They're jaws were scraping the floor, all of them staring in shock at the spectacle that had just occurred. I was about to turn around to Gerard to ask him exactly what the hell he had just done, when, he dragged me off by the wrist. Even though he'd told me to, I couldn't make my mouth muscles pull my lips up into a smile.

* * *

"What the FUCK was that?" Gerard and I were outside in the school yard. The bell had rang shortly after Gerard had dragged me off, so no one was in sight.

"Calm down!"

"How am I supposed to calm down if you just fucking _kissed_ me?" I was getting extremely angry, and I didn't even know why.

"Frank, calm the fuck down!" Gerard was yelling as well, but it didn't sound as though he was annoyed, just trying to get me to shut up. I obliged, wanting to hear what he had to say.

"Frank," Gerard began, "It's an act,"

I stood in silence staring at him. What'd he mean by 'an act'? It couldn't mean …

"This is a way to get you noticed," Gerard's face was calm as he spoke, "We get everyone to think you really are gay,"

"That doesn't even make any sense!" I couldn't understand his logic behind the plan, "Everyone _already_ thinks I'm a fag!"

"No they don't, they just like to think you are. And knowing something is true is not nearly as fun as wondering if it is,"

"So," I said, coming to grips with Gerard's plan, "We're going to pretend that … we're _dating_, all to get me to stand out from the crowd?"

Gerard nodded, and I had to admit, the plan was actually pretty clever. I would definitely stand out, and Gerard would too. No one would want to be around us, but that was okay, as long as we could be around each other without having to hear shit from everyone else. This could actually work.


	9. Give 'Em Hell, Kid

Gerard's P.O.V

Frank and I were extremely late to class, earning both of us dirty looks from the teacher. The percentage of the class that had seen out little 'show' outside was staring at us with their mouths hanging open, eyes as wide as humanly possible.

To make sure everyone knew we were 'dating', before we'd walked back into the school, I'd held out my hand to Frank. He'd looked at it like it was some kind of blood-sucking monster.

"Dude, my hand is not going to bite you," I said, rolling my eyes. He continued to give me a skeptic look. I sighed.

"If we want people to think we're actually dating, we're gunna have to act like it, so take my fucking hand!"

This time it was Frank who rolled his eyes, but he took my hand anyway. It was kind of weird, but I could handle a little weird.

"Yeah," Frank said sarcastically, "Cause the kissing hasn't already given them a clear enough idea,"

Now that we were standing in the doorway to the English class, our hands still clasped together, and everyone staring at us, I truly believed this was going to work.

The English teacher stared awkwardly at our grasped hands as we walked across the classroom to two seats next to each other. The class's eyes followed us as we walked, still hand in hand, before collapsing onto the uncomfortable plastic seats. I finally released Frank's hand, and the class continued, although people continued to turn around to stare at us from time to time.

I was really beginning to have fun with this little act, so I pulled out a piece of paper and began to scrawl onto it with pen. When I was finished, it read:

_When you read this, act like it's the fucking cutest thing you've ever read in your life._

I then passed it to Frank, and I watched as his eyes scanned the page, reading the words. He looked over at me once he was done, and I nodded ever so slightly. Then Frank's eyes went all gooey and he bit his finger seductively, looking over at me. Damn, he was pretty good at this.

I could feel everyone's eyes on Frank as he wrote a reply, and then passed it over to me, making sure that his hand lingered for a second more than he needed to. Not a bad touch.

I opened up the paper and read Frank's writing:

_How was that? Oh, and what're we gunna do if we get caught passing notes? The teacher's gunna wanna see them…_

Looking over at Frank, I bit my thumb suggestively before hastily writing a reply:

_Don't worry about it. I've got a plan._

Once Frank had read the note, he gave me a wink, and it took all of my willpower not to burst out laughing.

Suddenly, I heard someone clearing their throat, and both Frank and I turned to face the teacher, who was looking at us, stony eyed.

"We aren't passing notes, are we?" she asked sullenly, "I'm afraid you'll have to hand them over,"

Just as the teacher was about to walk forward and take the note from Frank's grasp, I grabbed both the note _and _Frank, making him collapse onto my lap with a faint yelp. I scrunched the note up into a ball and hurriedly shoved it down Frank's shirt.

"Miss, if you want the note, you're going to have to retrieve them from Frank's shirt," I said matter-of-factly, resting my chin on Frank's shoulder, "But if you'd rather not, I have no problem with retrieving it for you,"

And with that, I walked my fingers up Frank's back, and began to toy with his shirt. Frank tensed ever so slightly, but he continued with the act.

I lowered my hand ever so slightly, so that I was fingering the skin of Frank's chest. The whole class drew in a breath.

"That is quite enough, boys," the teacher said awkwardly, "Go to the principals office,"

"Fine by me," I said, but I knew I had to finish what I'd started, "But I think I should probably get this note. Don't want Frankie getting a paper cut,"

I sunk my hand into Frank's shirt, grasped the paper ball and took it out before shoving it into my jeans pocket. Then Frank hopped off me and both of us stood up, before walking hand in hand out the door of the classroom, leaving everyone gawking in our wake.


	10. I'm Not Okay!

****A/N: It's been a long time, and I must apologize, but I have been working on my Prison Fic, AS WELL as a little surprise ;) oh ho ho, got you interested now, haven't I ? xD Well, yes, I am working on another fic *hangs head* I'm not good at only sticking to one , but what're you gunna do ? ;D Sorry that this chapter's a little short, I'm suffering from a little case of Writersie Blockius at the moment, so just hang in there for a wee while :P I promise I'll get over it ;)**

**XOXO**

**Alt ;) ****

**Frank's P.O.V**

"You fucking tease!" I laughed, pushing Gerard as we sauntered down the hallway. I could still feel his cold fingers down my shirt, touching my skin, even though they were long gone.

Gerard hissed at me to be quiet, and I suddenly remembered that no one else knew this was a joke. But that just made me burst out laughing. Gerard stared at me oddly, but I couldn't help it. One, it felt too good to be actually _laughing_, and then there was the fact that everyone was so gullible beyond belief. The fact that they actually thought Gerard and I were dating was hilarious!

After a moment, I could see the strain on Gerard's face as he watched me laugh, and then suddenly he burst out into a fit of giggles, doubling over, clutching his abdomen. We must have looked bizarre, just two guys, laughing our asses off in the middle of a school hallway.

After a minute or two, Gerard and I finally stopped laughing, and he wiped his eyes dramatically, causing his black eyeliner to smudge slightly, which reminded me of a question that I'd been wanting to ask him.

"What's with all the makeup?" Gerard and I continued to walk down the hallway, still headed for the principal's office. Gerard shrugged.

"I guess it makes me stand out," he said, and then it was like a light bulb had flicked on above his head. Gerard turned to face me, a massive grin on his face.

"What?" I asked slightly cautiously. Gerard continued to look at me, with that almost frightening smile plastered on his pale face.

"You'll see," Gerard said mysteriously, "But we should hang out this weekend,"

I looked at him curiously for a moment before deciding that I really didn't want to know what he had planned. Shaking my head, I looked at the ground. That was when the hand grabbed the back of my neck.

I choked as the thick fingers tightened on my windpipe, blocking air from entering my lungs. I gasped, scratching at the hands that held me, but was unable to pry them off.

I heard a smash, and looked around with my eyes to find some jock pushing Gerard against a locker, smashing his head in. I tried to call for help, but my airways were still being restricted.

Black spots began to blur my vision, and I knew I was going to pass out if I didn't get air to my raging lungs soon. Coughing did me no good; it only wasted precious oxygen.

Then the hands had let go of my neck, but before I could get too excited, I was shoved headfirst into something dark and metallic. I heard a loud slam, and turned around in the darkness to see the door of the locker close, leaving me locked inside.

The sound of laughter could be heard, and then footsteps, as the two jocks who had jumped us walked away.

I gasped, coughing, glad that I could get air back to my lungs. Now the only problem was that I was stuck in a locker, all alone.

"Gerard?" I called through the grate. I heard moaning, and then the sound of someone getting to their feet.

"Frank?" Gerard's voice rang, "Frank, where are you?"

"I'm in the locker!" I was beginning to get claustrophobic, not enjoying the tight space I was currently stuck in. Then a piece of fabric brushed against my arm. I squinted through the darkness at it, before my eyes widened in horror, realizing what it was.

"Gerard, oh fuck," I cursed, becoming frantic, "Gerard, I'm in a jock's locker!"

Gerard swore under his breath, before leaning up towards the grate, looking through at me.

"Shit," he said, and I could hear him pacing on the other side of the locker door, "Uhm, I'm gunna get you out of there,"

"How the hell are you supposed to do that? What're you gunna do, break the door off?"

There was silence for a moment, and I knew Gerard was thinking hard.

"Uhm … Oh!" he said after a moment, "I'll be back!"

"GERARD!" I was getting really nervous now. The tight space felt like it was closing in on me, squeezing the life out of me. But there was nothing I could do, so I sat down, and waited.

Time seemed to tick by incredibly slow, like I was stuck in an hourglass that was blocked, allowing only one single grain of sand to fall every couple of seconds, and still Gerard didn't return.

Then, the bell rang, and I knew things were going to get a lot worse. As soon as the jock opened his locker, he would see me, and I would be in even deeper shit. But what was I supposed to do?

And then it hit me. I stood up just as I began to hear people exiting their classrooms, chatting away to their friends, laughing, joking.

I heard footsteps getting closer and closer to the locker, and I knew that this would be my only chance. I would have to time it perfectly, and not chicken out at the last second, or else it would all be for nothing.

I heard someone turning the dial on the locker, entering the combination, and I prepared myself. It was now or never.

As soon as the locker opened, I lunged outwards, yelling at the top of my lungs. The jock gave a startled shriek and fell backwards, falling over his dropped backpack. The jock scrambled to his feet and sprinted off in the other direction, and I couldn't help but chuckle at his face.

I stepped out of the metal locker, closing it behind me. People were staring, but I let them stare. I didn't hide, instead, I did something that I would have never done a few days ago.

I waved.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a fleck of darkness in the surrounding crowd of colour. I turned to see Gerard walking swiftly towards me, with a huge grin planted on his face. As he reached my side, he stooped down and kissed me lightly, and for a second, I forgot about the act, and wondered what the hell was happening. But then I remembered the crowd of people, and realized that Gerard had to make it look realistic. All this was definitely going to take some getting used to.

As he pulled away, Gerard whispered in my ear.

"Nice going, short stuff," and I smiled, before we walked away to our next classes, leaving everyone standing and staring for the third time that day.


	11. Chapter 11

Dear readers:

I'm sorry, but this story will not be finished. This is not like You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison, where there was no plot. I **HAD** a plot for this fic, but I am ashamed to say that I have given up. This story has not captivated me in a long time.

I'm sorry, but I would rather give up on a story than not write it well. I do not want to disappoint you more than I already have.

This is my sincere apology. I'm sorry for not completing this fanfiction. I really am. But I got in way over my head writing two long fanfictions at once, and that wasn't wise of me.

Even now, after I have given up You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison, I still do not plan on continuing this story, because all my love for it has vanished. The plot I had in mind was silly and cliché, and it would have been much better off as a one-shot.

I'm sorry if I have disappointed you by ending this story, I really am. I never planned for any of this to happen.

If you wish to read more of my fanfiction, Blood And Roses and Inferno are finished. They are the only two on this site that I have finished.

Also, I have a livejournal, where I have begun to write my newest fanfiction. I promise you now that I have thought through this entire story before even writing a word. I have spent months planning this story, writing down ideas, getting to know characters, etc. This will **NOT** end up like After Eternity.

My livejournal is: lithiumextract[dot]livejournal[dot]com

Just replace the [dot] with a period/fullstop.

Here is a little snippet of the fanfiction, for any of those who are interested:

_The water boils with a scream, its final, dying wail echoing through the house, lingering on even after Gerard flicks the switch, turning the heat off. He picks up the kettle._

_It weighs fifty pounds._

_He pours the water into the empty mug where the tea bag resides, alone, curled up in the bend like a mouse cornered by a cat. The boiling water steams, turning from clear to amber._

_They were out of coffee._

_Not good._

_He sips delicately at the tawny liquid, careful not to scald his throat, but even though he takes the most miniscule of sips, he still feels his tongue go fuzzy. Coffee was never this violent. _

_But the coffee was gone._

_And there was only tea._

_Goddamned tea._

_His mother walks into the room and spies him sitting at the table. She hides her concern very well, but her eyes are dull, expecting disappointment._

"_Have you eaten breakfast yet?" she asks, her words hopeful._

"_Yes," Gerard lies, and her worries evaporate into the air, escaping through cracks under the doors and out the windows. She spots the dirty bowl with the soggy remains of some Fruit Loops (118) crusting on the sides. He'd planted it there earlier that morning. No need to get her worried about something that didn't matter. _

_He was fine._

_Gerard can see that she feels guilty for not trusting him, even though she shouldn't. The guilt drips from her face and falls into her hands. She plays with it, twisting it through her fingers._

_He goes back to the aggressive tea, even though his throat's already burned. He doesn't want it. It tastes like plants. But still the hot liquid falls down his throat, filling up his mouse stomach unnecessarily. It squeaks in protest, but he keeps drinking. If he doesn't, things will seem wrong. Things can't seem wrong._

_He's fine._

As I said before, I have planned this story out for months, so it will not be a failure. I know everything that is going to happen in it.

Again I say I'm sorry to all you readers. I have disappointed you, and myself. I'm sorry.

-AlterationLover


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